


stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires

by RegalPotato



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-S2 Finale, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalPotato/pseuds/RegalPotato
Summary: She stretches her magic out, weaving it between them, twisting their power together like she so often used to back in their schooldays. Pippa’s magic sparks against her own, a frenzied but welcoming warmth that Hecate had once been addicted to feeling curling inside her. She bites the inside of her cheek, ignoring the nostalgia, the familiar draw of Pippa’s magic twining with hers, pushing further until she finds what she’s looking for.Her eyes widen and she twists, pushing Pippa down into the nearby armchair, a frown forming on her face, panic welling up against her rib cage.Pippa squeaks in surprise, mouth parted, eyes wide, but Hecate’s emotions are far too frantic to pay attention to the sound.“You transferred here,” she says firmly, and it’s a statement not a question.--Post-S2 finale, Pippa finds out what happened and has to see for herself that Hecate is okay.





	stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a few thousand words, but I ended up not being able to finish it where I expected and the result is this long, over-emotional mess. 
> 
> My first foray into writing something for Hicsqueak, and I've found I'm much more comfortable writing in Pippa's point of view, so finishing this was a challenge. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

 

 

“Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don't have the strength to fight it.”

― **George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones**

  
Hecate is cold.

It starts the same way it always does, the numbness encompassing her, chilling her skin, her bones, her _magic._

Darkness surrounds her, binds her like a tether wrapping tightly around her limbs, and all Hecate can think is: _must find Mildred Hubble._

Her magic stutters inside her when she tries to use it, pain manifesting where there should only be power, and Hecate stumbles against her invisible bindings, tumbling to the stone floor. Her mouth is dry, heart pounding, frost crawling up her spine to settle tightly in her chest. And when she finds the strength to lift her head, all she can see is blocks of glistening ice encasing everyone she’s failed to protect.

_Magic is control, Hecate. Magic is power. To control your magic is to control power itself._

Her father’s words invade her mind, banishing her own thoughts along with her magic. She feels it leave her, drop by torturous drop, feels herself come undone, feels herself become nothing.

For without her magic, that’s exactly what she is.

Nothing.

She struggles, tries to clear and focus her mind, digs down deep for the control she knows she possesses, but only manages to find herself empty.

_Miss Hardbroom._

Mildred’s voice surrounds her, soft and young. Her name echoing against the blackness, through the blocks of ice, growing stronger with every repetition.

_You failed us, Miss Hardbroom. You failed me._

Hecate wants to fight back - to argue, scream, cry, to tell Mildred she has tried her best - but all that comes to her is the memory of Miss Broomhead, cold voice curling over Hecate’s skin, whispering inside her bones: _your best isn’t good enough_.

It grows even colder in the darkness, a frost forming at her fingertips and trailing up her arms. Her body is frozen in place, powerless to stop the spread of ice, powerless to save herself, to save anyone.

 _Hecate_.

And the voice no longer sounds like her father, nor Mildred Hubble, nor Miss Broomhead.

It’s softer, sweeter, embraces her with a familiar warmth.

_Hecate._

The ice slows its progression, halting in place as the warmth begins to spread from inside her.

“Hecate!”

Hecate jolts awake.

She’s cold and hot all over, lungs gasping for air, eyes snapping open to take in the bright pink image of Pippa Pentangle hovering over her. Her face is scrunched up in worry, and for a moment Hecate thinks she’s still dreaming.

But her nightmares surrounding Pippa are never so solid, never so clear.

She tries to swallow, ends up choking on the dryness of her throat, heart still pounding from her nightmare and the way Pippa’s hand is clutching slightly too tightly around her arm.

Pippa’s free hand flicks at her side and Hecate’s coughing ceases immediately, a real warmth washing over her. She can’t tell if it’s the spell, or just the way Pippa’s magic curls around her own, that has her feeling so calm, so safe.

Hecate blinks, the realisation dawning, Pippa is _here_ , at Cackle’s, in her rooms. And the hand on her arm begins to burn, Pippa’s proximity suddenly too much and yet - as always - never _enough_.

“What are you doing here, Pippa?” she asks, voice clipped, strained, embarrassment sweeping through her at the notion that Pippa has seen her so weak and vulnerable.

She goes to pull away, fingers curling with the magic of a transference spell, but she hesitates, unsure of where she’d even go so late at night, her want for solitude warring - as always - with her need for Pippa.

“Hecate,” Pippa says again, her eyes worried but gentle, the hand pressed against Hecate’s arm almost willing her to stay in place.

“I...I’m…” _fine_ , Hecate wants to say, refuses to show any more weakness in front of the woman who is nothing but a weakness to her.

It’s bad enough that Pippa has caught her in the midst of a nightmare, that her failure for control continues to assert itself where it is not wanted, outside the realm of her dreams, and yet her words will still not come to her.

“Don’t try and tell me you’re fine, Hecate. Because you’re not fine,” comes Pippa’s shaky reply. “How can you be? You almost gave up your magic, you almost... _died._ ”

Her voice stutters over the last word, the fingers on Hecate’s arm gripping ever so slightly tighter. Pippa’s eyes have taken on a glassy sheen, and Hecate shifts uncomfortably at the raw emotion she finds there when their gazes meet.

“How did you-?”

“Mildred. She sent me a letter, of all things. She’s _worried_ about you, Hecate.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

Pippa shifts, hand sliding torturously down Hecate’s arm till her fingers flutter over Hecate’s own. She sits on the edge of the bed, frown deepening, eyes flicking over Hecate’s rigid posture.

“Is it really so absurd that there are people who care about you? Who want to know you’re okay?”

 _Yes,_ she almost says, but it’s not her own voice that has the word echoing inside her head. It’s the voice of her father, the voice of Miss Broomhead.

“I…”

Her jaw moves, teeth clenching and unclenching as she struggles to find her words.

“Because Mildred cares. Ada cares,” Pippa continues, then pauses, fingers curling around Hecate’s and squeezing. “I care about you, Hiccup.”

An almost-sob claws its way from Hecate’s throat, an unbidden exhale, and before she has the chance to pull away in embarrassment, to transfer out from under Pippa’s overwhelming presence, the other witch is wrapped around her, a soft “ _oh, Hecate_ ” falling from her lips.

Hecate inhales sharply, fingers spasming awkwardly against the bed sheets as she breathes in the scent of honey that is so intrinsically Pippa it has her stomach clenching. She tries to pull back, but Pippa tightens her hold, one hand still curled around Hecate’s, the other pressing firmly against Hecate’s spine.

Cheek’s burning, the chanted mantra of _get away, get away, get away_ thumping inside her head in time with the frantic beating of her heart - because she can’t be this close to Pippa, not when it’s so wrong, dangerous, everything she wants, everything she craves - Hecate flexes her fingers and finds herself standing on the other side of the room, chest rising and falling rapidly as she reminds herself to breathe.

Without Hecate’s body to hold, Pippa falls forward against the sheets, a surprised squeak slipping from her mouth that almost has Hecate’s own mouth curving up into a smile.

Pippa spins to face her instantly, lips pursed in a bemused sort of disappointment, one delicate eyebrow raised in question.

“I think that’s quite enough of that,” Hecate says pointedly, relief washing through her as she manages to speak without her voice breaking.

Pippa sits up straighter, crossing one leg over the other and placing a hand on her knee. She smiles softly, understandingly, her other hand moving up to brush her hair back from where it has fallen over her face.

“You almost died,” she huffs out, and Hecate has to look away from the childish pout that forms on Pippa’s lips. “I shall hug you as much as I like until we both feel better.”

“I’m…”

“Having nightmares,” Pippa finishes for her, just as pointedly, before rising gracefully to her feet. “Talk to me, Hecate. Please.”

But Hecate doesn’t know what to say, her thoughts a jumbled mess, her emotions a frantic panic.

Pippa’s stood in the centre of the room, watching her carefully, giving Hecate all the time she needs. The light from the fire she must have magicked to life before Hecate woke flickers over her skin, and suddenly Hecate can’t tear her eyes away. Because Pippa is beautiful, and perfect, and everything Hecate wants but can’t have. And all she can think is how she failed, how badly she failed everyone who was depending on her.

No matter how hard she tried, it hadn’t been good enough.

And such failure will never be worthy of such perfection.

“I tried,” slips from her lips, a whisper in the dark, and she hangs her head as the shame washes over her.

“What did you try, Hiccup?” Pippa asks carefully, coming to stand in front of Hecate, sure to keep a small distance between them.

Her hands twitch by her sides and Hecate knows Pippa wants to reach out to her, that - despite her earlier words - she’s holding back so Hecate won’t startle even further. And Hecate is grateful - warmth and affection curling tightly inside her at Pippa’s thoughtfulness - no matter how desperately she wants to bury her face in Pippa’s neck and never let go.

“To save them.”

“Oh, Hiccup.”

She reaches out then, stepping into Hecate’s personal space, hand hovering between them, Pippa warring with a need to touch her. After a long moment - and Hecate can’t tell if she wants Pippa to touch her or not - her hand drops back to her side. But Pippa doesn’t step back, remains standing barely a foot away, and Hecate’s senses are overwhelmed with the heat of her.

“I…didn’t...”

“You can’t control everything, Hiccup,” Pippa breathes. “That doesn’t make you any less of a witch.”

And that’s exactly what Pippa doesn’t understand, will never understand. Control is all Hecate has, her magic wild and untamed beneath the surface of her skin, begging to be let loose. Without her control, she fears what would become of her, of the school, of those she cares for.

Of Pippa.

Her mouth tightens with the desire to explain herself, to admit everything in a rush of words she’s not sure she could stop. But before she has a chance to stutter out a single sound, Pippa sways slightly on her feet.

And though the fire is casting out a pleasant warmth, its orange glow dancing over Pippa’s sun-kissed skin, Hecate can see her face lose all its colour.

“Pippa?” she says urgently, hands coming up to curl around Pippa’s biceps in support.

The lines of Pippa’s throat shift as she swallows, and Hecate’s hands tighten against Pippa’s arms as she feels her weaken.

“I’m fine,” Pippa says, though the lie is obvious, her voice weak, and Hecate feels a hot flush of fear rising up inside her.

She stretches her magic out, weaving it between them, twisting their power together like she so often used to back in their schooldays. Pippa’s magic sparks against her own, a frenzied but welcoming warmth that Hecate had once been addicted to feeling curling inside her. She bites the inside of her cheek, ignoring the nostalgia, the familiar draw of Pippa’s magic twining with hers, pushing further until she finds what she’s looking for.

Her eyes widen and she twists, pushing Pippa down into the nearby armchair, a frown forming on her face, panic welling up against her rib cage.

Pippa squeaks in surprise, mouth parted, eyes wide, but Hecate’s emotions are far too frantic to pay attention to the sound.

“You transferred here,” she says firmly, and it’s a statement not a question.

“Hecate-”

“Pippa, you _transferred_ here. From Pentangle’s? Even with a Founding Stone at the other end, such a distance is dangerous.” Hecate’s voice is harsher than intended, her emotions battling worryingly, nausea stirring in the pit of her stomach. “And our Founding Stone is still recovering, it can’t help replenish your magic after such an exertion. What were you thinking?”

Her mind has gone blank, aside from the whispered sounds of Pippa’s name, a worried mantra repeating itself over and over. Flashes of her nightmare flicker in the darkness, a sudden chill seeping down her spine, the thought of losing Pippa, of failing to save Pippa, of Pippa injured because of her.

Of the reason she left Pippa all those years ago.

“I was thinking about you!” Pippa snaps back, voice breaking ever so slightly.

Hecate’s heart thuds painfully against her ribcage, a staccato beat in her chest that she fears is loud enough to be heard. Her fingers curl tightly into her palms, and she tries - a sharp inhale, a count to five, a slow exhale - to control her breathing, tries to stop the spread of panic from overwhelming her.

Because Pippa has risked herself, once again, for the sake of Hecate.

And it’s enough to ruin her entirely.

Pippa moves to stand - apparently noticing Hecate’s internal spiralling - before thinking better of it, a hand flying to her head, fingertips pressing between her eyebrows. She slumps back into the armchair with a soft noise of protest, brow furrowed in a pained wince.

“I got Mildred’s letter,” she breathes, her gaze fixed somewhere on the rug that stretches out from the hearth. “And...I needed to see you, Hiccup, needed to know you were okay. Alive and breathing.”

Hecate swallows, her mouth dry, and forces her hands to unfurl - because Pippa is fine, and safe, and _here_. Pippa is worried about _her,_ cares about _her_. And whilst it might not be enough, Hecate will take anything Pippa is willing to offer.

Silently - though Pippa can no doubt sense the cast - Hecate magicks away the angry red crescents her nails have left branded into her skin, flexing her fingers by her sides, thumbs brushing anxiously against her fingertips.

She stays silent, and after a beat too long, Pippa inhales, raises her head to meet Hecate’s gaze, her brown eyes wet with unshed tears.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t particularly pay much attention to the time of day. Or night, as the case may be.”

She smiles sheepishly, a stark contrast to the shine in her eyes, and somehow Hecate finds all her panic and anger fading away, slipping through the cracks in the walls she tries so hard to maintain.

Because it’s unbecoming of her to be angry towards Pippa - despite how it stems from a worry so deep she’s not sure she can breathe - when she knows she’d transfer as far as her magic can allow, perhaps even further, if Pippa were ever to be in danger.

Though her the insecurities still bubble beneath the surface, her father’s words, Miss Broomhead’s words, the words of all the girls who had once surrounded Pippa in their schooldays, winding around her and pulling tight.

Pippa is not hers to want, to protect, to have.

“Despite-” she starts, voice choked, and Hecate has to take a second to clear her throat before continuing. “Despite what _Mildred Hubble_ may have led you to believe, I don’t need you checking up on me.”

It comes out far more bitter than intended, and Pippa flinches, a flash of hurt shooting across her face like lightning.

Hecate’s chest tightens nauseatingly in response.

She hadn’t meant to say it, at least not in that way, not in that tone. Hadn’t meant to make Pippa feel unwelcome - not when somedays Hecate feels she’s the only welcome thing in her life.

Her jaw aches, teeth clenching together painfully as she watches Pippa avert her gaze and draw her bottom lip into her mouth.

This time, when Pippa attempts to stand, she makes it to her feet, only the slight wobble to her stance betraying her magical exhaustion. Hecate automatically moves to support her, but Pippa waves her hands away, and the gesture feels like rejection burning a hot trail down Hecate’s spine.

“I know the risks just as well as you do, Hecate. But I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

She smiles, and the burning spreads across Hecate’s shoulder blades, holding her lungs tightly in her chest and making it hard to draw breath. Because Pippa’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, the forced politeness an expression she uses on politicians and parents alike, a smile Hecate knows so very well but has rarely seen directed towards herself.

“Pippa,” she forces out, wincing at the strain in her voice, the sudden fear of Pippa leaving overwhelming everything else. “I...apologise. I didn’t mean to...I only...”

Pippa deflates instantly, her anger softening into mere irritation. She sighs, brushes her hair back from her face, straightens a non-existent crease in her skirt.

“Yes, well, maybe I should have called first.”

Her voice is a bit forced, but Hecate knows Pippa well - far too well - knows she’s already been forgiven.

“Why didn't you?”

“I stayed up to do some marking for one of my staff who’s taken ill. I read Mildred’s letter when I was finished, hadn’t the faintest idea as to how late it had become and, well, as I said, I needed to see you, to see you were okay. To think of you without your magic, Hecate, I…”

Pippa blinks, stares up at the ceiling, a fresh layer of tears building up in her eyes. Something in Hecate’s chest tugs sharply at the sight, hands twitching by her sides, a need to comfort rattling through her veins.

But she doesn’t move. A soft “why?” exhaled from shaking lips.

“Hiccup...don't you know?” comes the exasperated reply, Pippa’s wet eyes wide and searching, confusion etched across her face. “I thought you did. I thought that's why you left.”

It hits her, a sharp twinge between her shoulder blades that has Hecate standing that little bit taller, the realisation Pippa is talking about their school years, about Hecate’s abandonment of their friendship.

Her jaw works silently, words forgotten on her tongue, confusion knitting her brows as she tries to fit together what Pippa is saying.

Her silence lends itself to awkwardness, and Pippa hangs her head, avoids Hecate's gaze and twists the toe of her shoe into the carpet.

“I think...I’ve outstayed my welcome. I should...I should probably leave.”

She makes for the door, brushing past Hecate with a soft sound of apology. And Hecate is moving before she can think, twisting in place and throwing out her arm.

“No!” Her hand finds Pippa’s wrist, long fingers curling around chilled skin.“No. I...it's late Pippa. And I'd rather let Mildred Hubble teach my potions classes than let you transfer or fly in this state.”

Pippa dips her head, offers a soft, unsure smile.

“You love that girl, Hecate Hardbroom,” she breathes, their eyes meeting, Pippa looking up at Hecate through her lashes.

 _I love you,_ she wants to say, feels the words building on her tongue. But she holds them back, as she always has done, bites down - hard - forcing the sentiment back to the depths of her heart.

Instead, she turns the conversation back, a shock of fear icing through her chest. Pippa has always been the brave one, has always pushed and prodded, gentle and kind. But Hecate feels the need to press on, squeezes Pippa’s wrist in what she hopes comes across as reassurance, and lets her fingers slide along Pippa’s skin, letting go.

“Why do you think I...I left?”

Pippa’s head snaps up, face awash with surprise, fear, another emotion Hecate is suddenly far too scared to place. She holds Hecate’s gaze, silent, searching, a nerve twitching in the line of her jaw. Something softens in the tightness of her shoulders, a surrender for which Hecate has no name.

Pippa presses her lips together, chest expanding with the strength of her inhale, eyes fluttering shut as she lets out a soft and pained, “Because I was in love with you.”

And Hecate’s world bottoms out from beneath her.

She blinks, breath caught in her throat, in her lungs. She forgets how to breathe entirely, heart thudding out of rhythm in her chest, skipping every other beat as she stares, wide-eyed, at Pippa.

Pippa who looks so small and beautiful - always beautiful - in front of her, Pippa whose eyes are still closed, squeezed shut, waiting for Hecate’s response.

“And...now?”

Hecate’s voice is choked, raw, but she can’t give Pippa a reply, can’t tell Pippa she’s loved her for as long as she can remember. Not without confirmation. Not if Pippa’s childhood fancies have been outgrown.

Not if Pippa wants nothing but friendship from her now.

Pippa flinches, and Hecate’s horrified to see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“Pippa?”

“I never stopped loving you, Hecate. Even when I tried so hard to hate you.”

And her eyes are open again, fixed on Hecate’s own, dark and shining and oh so brave, full of everything Hecate never thought she’d see.

It’s suddenly too much.

She feels violently ill, can’t find her voice, unable to move from her rigid place in the centre of her room.

Pippa looks fit to burst, tears sliding freely down her cheeks as she faces what must surely seem like rejection. Bottom lip shaking, she swallows, eyes dropping to the floor as she nods slowly.

“I’m sorry, Hecate, I…” Pippa pauses, a line appearing between her brows as she frowns, always strong, always brave. “Though...why _did_ you leave? Truthfully. You owe me that much.”

Pippa’s still staring at the carpet as she speaks, and Hecate longs for her to raise her head, the weight of her words laying heavy around them. Because Hecate still hasn’t figured out how to breathe, her chest tight, lungs burning, little gasps of stuttered breaths choking at her throat.

“I…” _love you too._

The words feel too real, too full of the pain and heartbreak of thirty years. She can’t say them, not yet, not here and now. Instead, she squeezes “ _Pipsqueak_ ” from her throat, pleading, begging Pippa to understand.

And gloriously, wonderfully, she does.

Pippa all but crumples, two short steps all it takes to have her wrapped around Hecate’s frame, soft and disbelieving sobs gasped into Hecate’s neck. And hesitantly, Hecate presses her hands into Pippa’s back, reminiscent of their reconciliation after the Spelling Bee.

Except they’re alone now, in Hecate’s rooms, no meddlesome witches lingering outside the door.

Hecate holds Pippa tighter. Possibly too tight. But Pippa responds in kind, one arm wrapped around Hecate’s waist, the other clutching at her back, fingers pressing up the length of Hecate’s spine.

And still she can’t breathe, but it’s a pleasant ache behind her ribs now, the feel of Pippa against her the only thing she needs to keep her heart beating.

It takes her far too long a moment to realise Pippa is speaking between her sobs, voice cracked and ragged, breathing out Hecate’s name in a reverent whisper. Her magic is weak, drained from the exertion of such a long distance transfer, but it dances along her skin like a siren song, frenzied and deep and entirely _Pippa._

Hecate can feel own her magic thrumming through her veins in response, beneath her skin, wild and untamed. It frightens her, as it always has done, the raw power she can feel inside herself, the danger she presents to everyone around her. But Pippa’s lips are soft against her throat, Pippa’s body warm where it presses against her own, and Hecate feels herself relax for the first time in years.

They’re not children anymore, no longer teenagers with barely a grasp over their power. Pippa is strong, powerful in her own right, her control of modern magic one of the greatest in the field.

Hecate thinks of her mother, of what her father did to her with his lack of control, her fingers curling against the fabric of Pippa’s dress, the old and familiar heartache burning inside her.

But Pippa isn’t her mother, and Hecate isn’t her father.

“I...was scared,” she admits, pressing her face against Pippa’s hair, breathing in the scent of honey and sugar and modern magic. “Of...myself.”

Pippa stills in Hecate’s arms, holds her breath to keep her tears at bay, waits for Hecate to continue. Hecate swallows back the fear clawing up her throat, hands curling and uncurling against Pippa’s spine, fingers splaying out over the pink fabric.

“You’ve seen what my magic can do when I can’t control it, Pippa. I…” She draws in a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut, and allows Pippa’s warmth to ground her. “I loved you...far too much...to risk what I could do...to you _._ ”

Hecate doesn’t hear Pippa’s shaky gasp, but she feels it, a full body shiver against her, around her.

And then Pippa’s hands are on Hecate’s face, thumbs sweeping over her cheekbones, brushing away the tears that Hecate hadn’t even realised had fallen. Their foreheads press together, breaths mingling in the dwindling space between them, and when Pippa speaks, Hecate can feel her lips brush against her own. An infuriatingly light touch that has heat flaring up her spine.

“Hiccup, I fear we’ve both been rather foolish.”

There’s a choked laugh in the back of Pippa’s throat, her thumbs slowing their movement against Hecate’s cheeks.

Time freezes around them, but so unlike the ice that had frozen her school, her students, her magic; it’s a searing warmth, a beat so strong that Hecate can feel it echo in sync with her heart.

She’s not sure who moves first, figures later that it was probably herself, but her lips are pressing against Pippa’s, soft and warm and sweet. Pippa’s mouth opens instantly beneath her own, both of them a bit too wild, a bit too desperate, in their need to taste each other.

And Hecate can finally breathe again, soft gasps for air in between a frantic press of mouths, twisting tongues, nipping teeth. Pippa’s hands grip harder at her face, Hecate’s tugging harder against Pippa’s spine.

She tastes like sugared doughnuts, tastes like coming home.

The ice that has taken up residence inside Hecate, the chilled memory of her magic draining from her fingertips, it melts, fades away with the feel of Pippa wrapped around her. With the knowledge that her love is returned, is valued, is _wanted_.

Warmth flickers over her skin, radiating out from everywhere Pippa touches her. And Hecate finds a smile pulling at her mouth, presses herself deeper into the kiss, lets Pippa consume her fully.

Because, with Pippa in her arms, Hecate is no longer cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
